


Frozen Angst Challenge

by theragingstorm



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Injury, Marriage, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Sickness, Sister-Sister Relationship, Trauma, childbirth complications, romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: Five prompts, in response to the Kingdom of Covid Frozen Angst Challenge.
Relationships: Agnarr/Iduna (Disney), Anna & Elsa (Disney), Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa & Kristoff (Disney), Everyone & Everyone
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	1. "The wind blows a little bit colder..."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Hope you're all staying safe and healthy during isolation and quarantine.   
> In the meantime, I thought I'd participate in this challenge (it's also taking place on Tumblr). Writing angst doesn't really come naturally to me, but I hope you guys all enjoy these anyway.

Two weeks after the thaw, the other countries' ships had left Arendelle’s harbor, the people were content, and the midsummer sun once again beat down, and through it all, Elsa couldn't help but notice something unusual in her sister.

Anna never seemed to be warm. 

Despite the children playing in the chilly fjord, people downing iced drinks all through the heat of the day, and women fanning themselves while in their gardens or on their porches, Anna wore full length dresses and sleeves, piled on jackets and sweaters at night. She asked for fires to be built in her room. She leaned into the people around her, lay out in the sun, never in the shade, seeking heat like a sick housecat. More than that, she shivered frequently now, wrapping her arms around herself, gasping and shuddering even under the most direct sun. 

Elsa at first thought that this was Anna’s natural tendency, the one she’d had since birth, to seek out warmth; when she was little, she’d always huddled near the kitchen stoves and fireplaces and buried herself under mounds of blankets and whine about being cold through the whole winter, plying their mother for more layers till she looked like a tiny, redheaded penguin. 

But it was summer. Anna had always loved the summer. No one loved the sun more; and the sun, in turn, had always loved and kissed Anna in return, which was why her cheeks were always rosy and her skin always covered in freckles like stars. Elsa had always felt that she looked anemic and sick in comparison. 

She also remembered listening through her door, hearing the proof of Anna’s love of summer. She remembered hearing Anna cheer to see the sky turn gold and the leaves turn green, hearing their father click his tongue at how she’d eaten so much ice cream she’d gotten sick, hearing Gerda’s protests against her splashing in the courtyard fountains with her skirts around her knees because  _ Your Highness, you are a young lady now, and showing one’s legs is inappropriate!  _

It was no wonder Olaf turned out the way he did. He may have been Elsa's creation, but he had a piece of both of them in him, after all. Now, he was fulfilling Anna’s job for her, running all over the kingdom and enthusing about how everything was good now that it was summer again, while Anna had to wrap a blanket around herself just to do the same. 

“It’s likely nothing, Your Majesty,” the physician said to Elsa when she went to him with her anxiety. “She might simply have a cold, or even so, she just has chills. They can happen to anyone; as I recall, your mother used to get them.”

“I don’t remember that,” Elsa replied, frowning. Their mother had been surprisingly resilient, as  _ she _ recalled, going outdoors as often as possible to read or paint, sometimes wandering far from the castle grounds into nearby woods, and yet almost never seeming to get sick or injured, and always healing quickly with a smile on her face. 

“Oh yes. They happened when…” The physician trailed off. “Oh. Ah. That makes sense in retrospect, actually.”

“What?”

“Well...they happened when she was pregnant with you. All through spring and even through summer, well, Her Majesty, God rest her soul, she, like Her Highness now, constantly shivered. Never seemed to be warm, no matter how many layers she wore or fires we built.” He coughed. Elsa stared in horror. “There was also an almighty blizzard, the day you were born. Cold as the ninth circle of hell. I honestly think we might’ve realized earlier...anyway, now that you mention it, your mother’s chills _might_ in fact be something similar to your sister’s.”

Elsa barely heard the last sentence, running out, leaning against a wall, and pressing her hands over her mouth, hyperventilating, her shoulders shaking. 

She had barely calmed down by the time Anna herself came down that hallway, her shoes and the hem of her green skirt speckled with mud, her jacket covered in dandelion fuzz.

“Hey, Els! You really should’ve come with us, we ended up having such a nice picnic. Oh, and Kristoff was the perfect gentleman the whole time, and Sven and Olaf did do their jobs as chaperones, so no need to panic! Well, we did roll around in the grass a little, but only in the literal sense, cause Olaf tried to jump in a stream after a fish and I kinda slipped going after him --”

Elsa seized her sister, brushing grass off of Anna’s braids and pulling her jacket tighter around her -- then drawing back, afraid her touch would exacerbate her condition.

“Anna, be careful then,” she fretted. “I worry about you, you know that.”

“Elsa, it’s no big deal. It’s just a little mud and plants -- ooh.” Anna shuddered; Elsa cringed back further. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

Anna rolled her eyes and lifted her arms, smiling in a  _ what am I gonna do with you?  _ kind of way.

“Okay. You’re right. I’m  _ drastically  _ ill , and the only cure is a hug from my sister.”

Her arms spread further, but Elsa didn’t approach. Anna’s face fell; Elsa swallowed hard, her chest hurting. 

“Come on, Els,” Anna tried again. “We have thirteen years’ worth of hugs to catch up on. And I would think that your worrying over me would be the perfect way to get you on that.”

“N -- no. Not right now, Anna.”

“Right. Right. Got it.”

Her sister had wilted, and began slouching her way down the hall instead of skipping. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself on her own. 

“Anna?”

Anna’s head lifted again. 

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. You’re still trying to get used to physical touch again, and that takes a while,” she rambled. “And I know, you’re going to say that I shouldn’t push it, that I should respect your boundaries ‘n shit. S’okay, if you don’t want to I’ll just go get cleaned up for lunch.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Elsa took a deep breath, forcing herself to talk. “Anna, I know you’ve been cold lately, even since the thaw. Does it...does the cold come from your chest?”

Anna frowned, pursing her lips. Elsa unconsciously took in little details about her, the strands of hair coming loose from her braids, the smudge of dirt on her nose. 

“Sometimes,” she said absently. 

Elsa’s breathing shook. She backed away again, nearly ten paces before Anna snapped back to attention.

“Oh sweet Jesus. Elsa no! No, no, don’t leave!”

Before Elsa could, her sister darted forward and seized her by the shoulders. The temperature in the hallways dropped, and Elsa hated herself for it; Anna was  _ already _ too cold, and she was  _ already _ responsible for it. 

“I’ve just been more sensitive to well, cold, lack of warmth lately. That’s all. But I always have been!”

“Because of me,” Elsa realized. More horror and shame struck through her. “Because you were born around me, because Mother was always around me when she was carrying you, and because when you were little, I struck you, I…” Her next breath rattled, like a sob. 

“Hey. Hey no.”

“Yes, Anna. Yes. Maybe this is natural, it might have nothing to do with me, I don’t know, but how likely do you really think that is?”

Anna bit her lip so hard it drew blood. 

“Well, then, it’s worth it.”

“No!”

“ _ Elsa! _ ” Anna’s voice was so sharp it cut through the beginning of her sobs. “You really still think, after all we went through this month, that I’m ever going to be put off from you because of your magic? I don’t care if I’m a little cold, I don’t even care if it’s because of my frozen heart.” She pulled Elsa into a tight embrace. “I’ll put up with anything as long as I don’t lose you again.”

Elsa, despite herself, wrapped her arms around her sister in turn, her presence slowing her hysterical breathing, bringing the temperature of the castle back up to normal, sun-drenched warmth. 

“I hate that I hurt you,” she mumbled. “That I might still be hurting you. I think it’s going to haunt me every day for the rest of my life.”

“I understand. But Elsa, you never meant to. You would do anything for me, you love me, and that’s why I already forgave you, okay?” Anna pulled back slightly to brush Elsa’s hair out of her face. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“I just...I just want you do be okay. Don’t do anything else crazy, okay? Don’t put yourself at risk.”

“I could tell you the same thing.”

Elsa forced a smile, while her sister sighed about what a pair they both were, having seemed to have recovered already. 

Through the rest of the day, though Anna smiled and laughed again, reassured, Elsa, even under the heat of midsummer, could not help but shudder to herself. 


	2. "Please, come home..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was about emotional pain, now here's some physical pain as well!

The first winter after the opening of the Forest set in hard and fast, and hardened further into something brutal. Christmas and New Year’s had passed, but the knifelike winds still howled like wolves all through the long blue-black night, and the snows continued to pile up until it became a struggle to leave first the kingdom, then one’s own home. 

Anna had sent representatives into the kingdom to ensure that everyone had enough firewood, enough food, enough warm clothes. When they came across a home that didn’t, she gave her men instructions to give them all they needed and more. In between managing trade and taxes and the economy, she did everything in her power to make sure her people were safe, and would survive the long winter. 

But there were two people she could not ensure the safety of. 

General Mattias came in to see her, because Halima was working and Anna couldn’t bear to have dinner alone that night. 

“They’re not back yet?” he asked, cutting into his herring. “That’s not like them, to not come home when they said they would.”

Anna bit into her dinner, but it felt like ashes in her mouth. The anxiety had risen in her chest, swirling like the wind. 

“I know,” she fretted, sipping her wine. It left a lingering, sour aftertaste. “Elsa promised she’d have him and Sven home early this afternoon, but they’re  _ hours _ late. I know they probably just took what Kristoff said was a ‘shortcut’ that actually takes twice as long, or stopped to look at some really, really good ice, but still...maybe it’s stupid, but I can’t help but worry, Destin.” She stabbed a bit of potato.

Mattias looked down at his plate. 

“I understand,” he said. “Ever since I lost your father, and so many of my men, I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure I don’t lose anyone else…”

“Destin, no.” She reached across the table and put her hand over his. His hands weren't huge like Kristoff’s, but they still dwarfed hers, so that the action reminded her of holding her father’s when she was little. They were rough, like her father’s, too. “Don’t blame yourself. I get enough of that with Elsa, okay? It was Runeard’s fault and Runeard’s alone.”

He smiled faintly.

“Thank you, Your M -- Anna. And look, I know we can’t help but be concerned, but your sister and your fiancé  are both smart and resilient. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. We’ve just been through enough lately, I just want them here, you know? Especially with that storm outside…”

“Elsa’s impervious to the cold.”

“I know.” Anna looked outside, at the thick drifts of white sweeping in, burying the frosted glass of the castle windows. “But Kristoff isn’t.”

Only the cold winter wind moaned in reply. 

* * *

They had been lost since the storm had set in.

“Elsa?”

“Kristoff, Kristoff, I'm still here. Don’t let go of me, we can’t get separated.”

Sven bellowed in distress, backing up, the sled creaking behind him. The two of them had dismounted to try and get a closer view of the landscape, but the winds had brought so much snow, everything was completely whited out. This was no Gale, no friendly, helpful wind; this was wild, unthinking, unfeeling. Elsa clutched the enormous mittened hand in her small bare one, lifting her other hand to shield her face, the blasts hurting her eyes. 

Behind her, she could hear Kristoff hissing through his teeth, shuddering. Even through his layers of fur, the cold was piercing through to him, and that thought shook her far more than the wind. 

“We must be close to Arendelle by now!” he shouted over the howling. 

“How can you tell?” she cried, tears welling up. They froze in the corners of her eyes. “Everything looks the same.”

“This kind of tree only grows in and near the valley. If we get a little further down, we’ll be able to see the kingdom, I’m sure of it. Elsa, c’mon, we only have to get through this for another couple hours.”

Elsa wheeled. Looking up, she saw in horror that his lips were turning blue, that he couldn’t stop shaking. He blinked more slowly, his movements clumsier, more sluggish. 

They had been out in the storm for most of the day now...she was only bothered by the wind, but for him, hours of exposure to the cold, probably soaked with sweat and snow...he was used to the winter, but he’d always been able to return to the warm castle, or his family’s warm valley, afterwards, he’d always made it back in time. Now, they were still lost, and out on the mountainside, there was no relief. 

“You don’t have a couple hours,” she realized. “We need to find shelter and get you warm, and we need to do it now.”

His eyes narrowed. His furs, his lashes and brows were all frosted with white; if not for his shaking, he’d look as much like a spirit of snow as she. 

“Elsa, no. We promised Anna we’d get back to her.”

“ _ I _ promised Anna that I’d get you back to her  _ safe _ . Don’t argue with me, Kristoff.” Her authoritative voice cracked slightly. “I’ll never forgive myself if you die.”

He looked at her. Then he shuddered again, his breath coming out in a huffing sigh, forming a heavy cloud. 

“Fine. Sven! Buddy, c’mere!”

They searched hastily, managing to find a small cave, covering the sled with a blanket and bringing Sven inside. Elsa looked away while he stripped away his wet layers and wrapped himself in his drier furs, then she pulled another blanket over him, hastily adjusting it tightly around his shoulders. She leaned a little into him, then pulled away when he shuddered again.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I can only keep you cold. Sven, would you please…?”

Sven brayed in reply, then moved closer, letting his friend lean against him, sharing their body heat. 

“Thank you.”

They sat there for some time as the night grew colder, darker, as the wind kept wailing outside, creeping into their cave, making Elsa’s hair and dress flutter, almost like a shiver of her own. 

“Do you ever get scared, when you go out harvesting?” Elsa asked after a while. “That you’re not going to make it back?”

“Over the last few years? Constantly.” He blew on his hands, cupping and rubbing them together like she did when she was anxious or stressed. “You always get scared of dying when you have something to live for.”

“Yes. I know that now.”

It was worth it sometimes, though, if it was for the sake of the things and people you loved. 

“Anna’s probably worried sick,” he muttered, and Sven groaned softly in agreement. “I hate not being able to go to her.”

“Me too. And if I were by myself, I  _ would _ keep going, but since you’re here, I’m keeping you safe.” Her voice became softer. “She wouldn’t want either of us to kill ourselves getting to her.”

“She’s protective like that.” He yawned, dropping further into Sven’s flank. She noticed that he’d stopped shivering. “Elsa...I feel kind of better.”

“Less cold?”

“Actually, I don’t feel cold at all anymore. I feel warm. Really warm.”

Elsa was up in an instant, running back outside to grab another blanket from under the sled cover, dusted in snow as she pulled it over him, Sven making anxious grunting noises. His eyes started fluttering shut, trying to shrug the blankets off, and she pulled them tight and slapped both his cheeks, trying to keep him awake. 

“Kristoff, Kristoff, stay with me. You can’t leave me, okay? We both have to get home, remember? We both have to get back to Anna.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t leave her. She’s everything.”

“She is.” Elsa blinked rapidly. “She really is.”

He tried to close his eyes, and she frantically slapped his cheek again. Sven turned his head to look at his friend, braying in fear. 

“I hope she’s not too worried...the last thing I would want to do is cause you girls any...any kind of pain…”

“Kristoff?”

He didn’t say anything. Elsa’s heart rose up into her throat, eyes welling up again, but the few tears that managed to escape simply froze upon her cheeks. They stung her eyes, her skin, and she understood a little of how it felt to be so cold. 

“Kristoff, are you still with me?”

Only the cold winter wind moaned in reply. 


	3. "Your Majesty, there's something you should know..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how *technically* angsty this one is, it borders more on emotional hurt/comfort, but hey. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not Sámi, or indigenous at all. Please let me know if I overstepped in any way.

“My lady queen.”

Iduna turned, pulling her scarf more tightly around her shoulders and coming face-to-face with the people in the door.

Agnarr looked at her, furrowing his brow. Hilde, Iduna’s maid that she’d sent to fetch him, curtseyed awkwardly and backed out, shutting the door behind her with, what sounded like to Iduna, an ominous  _ clack _ . 

“Usually, when someone comes to tell me there’s something I should know,” her husband began at last, “and they’re so nervous about it, it’s not to tell me that my wife wishes to speak with me.”

“Sorry about that,” she replied. “I’m just...a little on edge.” She laughed, and it sounded slightly hysterical. “Poor Hilde must’ve picked up on that.”

Agnarr looked more concerned. His shoulders dropped, as if his uniform and medals were weighing him down, dropping the  _ proud, strong king _ image he nearly always had to keep up. Some of the hair was coming free from his neat part, and he approached her, putting his hands on her shoulders; she automatically leaned into his touch, her body relaxing slightly. 

“Iduna, what’s wrong?”

The tension returned. She swallowed hard, ducking her head. 

So many years of keeping this secret. Nearly three decades of holding it inside her, never telling a single other living soul. She’d had to. Her life had depended upon it. She’d needed to suffocate that part of herself, so she did, beneath layers of dresses and corsets and, eventually, a heavy crown, so unlike the freedom of movement and speech she’d enjoyed as a girl. 

“There’s...there’s something you don’t know about me.”

Those layers, that covering of that something, had been so thorough, no one had ever suspected a thing. As far as anyone knew, she had been an orphaned farm girl from a village in the outer Arendelle territories. She’d trained herself to eat beef and pork instead of fish and wild game, to trade with money, to read and write Norwegian, to get on her knees in the chapel and pray to a single God and His son instead of to the numerous gods and spirits she'd grown up with, to talk and act like a lady instead of a free woman. On her wedding day, she’d smothered herself in the kingdom’s heaviest white dress, what felt like a thousand pounds of silk and lace instead of the home-woven cloth her mother had worn at her own wedding, adorned with miles of silver thread stitched in the shape of Arendelle’s crocuses. 

She’d never told her daughters their own heritage. Their only clues were a few songs from her childhood, and the symbols on her beloved scarf. 

“Sunshine, you’re worrying me. I’ve never heard you talk like this.”

“Because I’m afraid,” she managed to say. “I need to tell you this, for my own and our daughters’ sake, but well, I think you might hate me for it.”

His expression shifted. He let go of her shoulders, and instead wrapped her in an embrace, so natural that they both melted into it, the result of twenty-odd years of marriage. 

“I could never hate you.”

“Darling, I --”

“I mean it. I could never hate you. I love you.”

It warmed her to the bone. It gave her courage. So she pulled away slightly, steeling herself.

“I need to tell you about my past, and where I’m from.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, just for a moment, before he caressed the side of her face; she leaned into his touch again. 

“I’m listening.”

The layers of weight finally peeled away as she spoke. 

“I’m not from the territories.”

“Alright.”

“I’m not from Arendelle. Not from anywhere in the kingdom, from a day and a half’s ride to the north from the city.”

“To the north…? You’re from one of the towns to the north?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Agnarr, what do you remember about the day you were rescued in the Forest? The battle of your father’s forces with -- with the Northuldra?” Her voice trembled. 

“Everything I know I’ve told you and our daughters. I know all that happened that day except what triggered the fighting and who saved me, but I don’t see how --”

“It was me.”

Her husband went still. His hand fell away.

Iduna’s voice shook harder. 

“I don’t know who -- who started the fighting either, but Agnarr -- I -- I’m the one who saved you.”

He withdrew slightly. 

“That’s not possible. There were no girls my age at the celebration except…” He stared at her, beginning to realize. He took a step back.

“Yes.” Her hands parted from him, reaching up to clutch her scarf. “I saved you, because I was there at the celebration. Because  _ I’m _ Northuldra.”

To say it, to acknowledge her heritage after all those long years, tasted bittersweet. She called up the beloved memories of her mother’s songs, her father’s work-rough hands, the laughter of her friends, the melodic rolling language they all spoke in, the smell of leaves and earth and evergreen, the feeling of soft leather and rough cloth, of worn wood, the gentle grunts and brays of reindeer and the warmth of their fur, the taste of gamey meat and sweet cloudberries, the rituals and prayers, the neighs and chirps and rumbles of Water, Fire, and Earth, and, of course, the carefree, loving whistle of Wind. 

But Agnarr withdrew further, his eyes growing wide, staring in shock at his wife. 

“You’re Northuldra?” It was barely more than a whisper. “How? You lied to me? You...you kept this from me for nearly thirty years?”

“Oh God. It wasn’t  _ personal _ , Agnarr,” she managed to say, a sharp ache splitting her chest. “Your people  _ fought  _ mine. They hated mine, they  _ still _ hate us. One of us killed your king, your  _ father _ . Do you think that any of those things are something that people forget? Do you remember the boy from out of town  _ rumored _ to be Northuldra, two years after your father’s death? Do you remember the condition they found his body in?”

“Iduna, I…”

Her tone grew increasingly desperate, almost hysterical. 

“Please. Agnarr. I didn’t keep this from you because I wanted to deceive you. I kept this from you to stay alive, to ensure that no one would turn on our daughters. Can you imagine -- we’re already scared enough for Elsa, what would happen if people found out about her magic, can you imagine what people would think of her and Anna, what they might  _ do _ to her and Anna, if they found out they were Northuldra?”

She reached one hand out for him, but he jerked away.

“I’m aware.” His voice was low. 

“Agnarr...I...look. I know I was protecting myself, but I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m  _ so _ sorry, and...it’s not like...it’s not like the rest of our marriage was a lie.”

“Wasn’t it?”

A sharp spike of anger and despair went through her. 

“You’re one to talk,” she snapped. “You’re the one who initially forced Elsa to do  _ the exact same thing. _ She’s eighteen years old, and who knows her, Agnarr? Who’s she spoken to aside from her tutors or the staff, who’s touched her, who’s seen the light of day on her face in the last ten years?”

“And you’re protesting?” he retorted, turning his back to her. “Really? Right after you were such an advocate of lying for the sake of protection? Elsa still can’t control her powers. You said it yourself, if people know who she really is, they’ll turn on her.”

“Like you?” Iduna asked acidly. Her husband’s eyes flashed. “I told you why I did what I did, but good reason or not, it has hung on me every day of my life since I came here. It has been the worst burden I have ever had to bear, to pretend to not be what I am. Elsa should never have taken that on herself. She cannot keep bearing it; it will crush her.”

“What she’s doing is --”

“What she’s doing is  _ killing her, _ Agnarr!” Her voice rose to a crescendo. She never raised her voice, not when other royalty smirkingly called her an uneducated peasant behind their hands, not when the councilmen tutted that a woman should not weigh in on politics, not when Anna crashed her bike through the kitchens into all the flourbags, never. “She hasn’t spoken to a single human being outside this castle in ten years, she doesn’t leave her room for days on end, her relationship with her sister is almost disintegrated, she hasn’t let us touch her since she was thirteen, she’s miserable, she’s suffering, we are killing her! We are  _ killing our daughter! _ ”

Her husband’s shoulders slumped. When he turned to look at her again, his anger seemed to have alleviated, to be replaced with shame. 

“You’re right.”

She was thrown for a moment.

“You’re right, Iduna. I never wanted this for her or her sister, I...I thought we would  _ limit _ her contact with people, teach her  _ control _ , but she’s cut herself off from everyone, and she now thinks she has to suppress everything about herself simply to exist among other people. That’s not control. That’s a kind of suicide, isn’t it?”

“Assisted suicide.” Iduna looked at the floor. “We’ve helped her in it.”

“ _ I’ve _ helped her in it. It was  _ my _ idea. It’s  _ my _ words she keeps repeating. I’m the one who pushed her towards this in the first place, all she had to do was follow it to its logical conclusion.” 

“And what kind of a role model have  _ I _ been in the meantime, to push down who  _ I  _ am as well.” 

Iduna sat down on their bed, her scarf slipping and falling to pool around her skirts. Agnarr sat next to her, briefly hesitated as he reevaluated the symbols upon it, then picked up her scarf to drape it over her shoulders again.

“You really saved me?” he asked after a minute. 

“Yes.”

“But I was the crown prince of Arendelle. I was your enemy. Why?”

She thought about how to answer.

“I guess it didn’t really matter to me in the moment that you were Arendellian. I knew  _ you _ hadn’t caused the fighting, you were just a child, like I was. And I knew that you were in danger, that you were injured, and that if I left you there, the spirits’ rampage or a stray blade or spear might wound you further or kill you. I was afraid, I was confused, and I suppose...all I  _ could _ do was save you. I didn’t know what else to do except the next right thing.”

Unusually tentatively for him, he leaned into her. She gasped slightly.

“I’m still reeling about you lying to me,” he admitted. “And about you being Northuldra. But I don’t hate you. I don't love you less. And I don't blame your people for losing my father, or our troops.”

“How generous of you,” she quipped softly, and he actually laughed, looking sheepish. 

“Fair enough.”

“Yes. And for the record, I meant what I said earlier.” Even after her outburst, when she turned to look at him, it was almost shy. “Our marriage  _ wasn’t _ all a lie. I...I really do love you too.”

“I know. It would’ve been much easier on you if you’d never married me --”

“Like I suppose it would’ve been easier on me if I’d never saved you,” she mused.

“True. But you did both. I know you love me, as I love you.” He looked at his hands. “But I think you’re much a better person than I am, Sunshine.”

She clasped his hands in her own.

“Darling, I won’t tell you that our mistakes mean nothing, because they don’t. But we can still rectify things,” she said gently. “The rest of our marriage will have no lies. And the rest of our daughters’ lives don’t have to be lonely and miserable.”

Agnarr looked at her with new hope in his eyes, and some of her guilt and her burden faded, to be replaced with hope of her own, and love. 

“This is why I told you who I am. For I think there’s a place where we can find answers about Elsa’s powers, to help her, and help Anna in turn.”

“I’m listening.”

Iduna took another deep breath, and as she did, even with the King of Arendelle beside her, she almost swore she could hear the reindeers’ hoofbeats, her people's voices, and the laughter of the Wind. 

“When I was little, my mother used to tell me about a special river called Ahtohallan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You get why I had him call her Sunshine, right? Because she's one of the People of the Sun?)


	4. "Sleep my darling, safe and sound..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only one of the prompts so far where I included it in the actual text! Also, it's only technically on time.

It should have been a beautiful golden day in early fall. 

The physician had warned Anna not to travel so late in her pregnancy, and she hadn’t listened; had insisted on going to visit Elsa, rushing to the forest on horseback, determined as always. The price for her determination had been that she’d gone into labor a month early right there amongst the trees, and that it had gone on for so long, lying there in the midwife's goahti, that time began to blur together. Even in the turmoil, Honeymaren had been the one to fetch the midwife while Elsa's eyes had gone wide with shock, and Ryder had taken a reindeer and sped back to the mountain lakes at the edge of the kingdom to fetch Kristoff. Anna had sweated and panted and suffered, while she clutched Elsa’s hand like a lifeline, while her sister held her cold palm to her hot forehead, so hot, more hot than she’d ever been, wondering how much time had passed; it felt like an eternity. 

Her only indication was that she knew it was half a day’s travel both ways to the mountains, to the edge of the kingdom, and she knew that enough time passed for Ryder to get there and for him and Kristoff to get back, to return _before_ the soft-voiced midwife told her to push, so that her daughter came from her in a river of blood while both her husband and sister were at her side. 

She slipped in and out of consciousness, and her body temperature didn’t drop, even hours after the birth was over. 

“Juljá, what’s wrong?” Anna heard Elsa frettingly ask the midwife, while she rolled over, groaning, wondering where her baby was. “Shouldn’t her fever have broken by now?”

“It should have,” Juljá agreed. Anna’s eyes cracked open, to see Juljá biting her lip, her black eyes flicking over her while Elsa wrung her hands. Kristoff loomed over both of them, pacing back and forth in the small space.

“Well,  _ do _ you know what’s wrong?” he demanded, sounding as frantic as his sister-in-law.

“I can only surmise, but the baby was so large, even while premature, and she’s so small and slender-hipped, it made the birth too slow, take too long. Makes it easier to contract an infection. Kristoff, come with me, I’ll fetch her some medicine at once, while Elsa, you keep it cool in here, make sure her fever doesn’t get worse --”

“No,” Anna croaked, making them all jump; she tried to sit up on her elbows. “Where’s the baby?”

“Anna, lie back down, you’re sick.”

“Where _ is _ she?” she insisted. 

The three of them exchanged looks, then Kristoff looked down, unable to meet his wife’s eyes. A pit opened in Anna’s stomach.

“She won’t stop crying,” Elsa said at last. “She won’t sleep more than snatches at a time. She won’t take milk from any of the other nursing mothers, she won’t take milk from a bottle. She’s just...wearing herself out.”

Anna sat all the way up and tried to get to her feet, but her legs shook so badly she collapsed at once. Kristoff raced over and caught her. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and she saw there were dark circles under his eyes. Elsa looked up, and she too seemed worn. He’d raced all the way over from the mountains, Elsa had never left her side, how long had either of them been awake? “I tried to settle her, but she -- but she --”

“It’s not your fault,” Elsa said softly. Anna realized that her sister was echoing  _ her,  _ perhaps unconsciously. “It’s neither of your faults.”

“She’s right,” Juljá agreed. 

Outside the goahti, Anna realized that she could hear murmuring from the other Northuldra women, could hear the faint, but piercing, cry of an infant. 

“I want to see her,” she blurted. 

“Anna, what you need is to take your medicine and sleep --”

Tears welled up despite herself; Anna wished she were stronger, was able to know better, be less like herself. For Elsa had no idea what to do either, she had no children. Where was their mother? Where was Iduna, with her steady voice and sad eyes, to help her daughter work through this insurmountable burden that women had to face?

“I want to  _ see her _ .”

Looking sorrowful, her sister waved her hand, coating the inside of the goahti with frost, before she and the midwife left in separate directions. Kristoff shifted, till he was seated behind Anna, holding her. Her hot skin ached in the cold air, and she hated to think of how he must feel right then. 

“Will she make it?” Anna asked him. 

“Well...they don’t know what specifically is wrong with her. She just won’t eat or sleep.” He ran his hand over her hair. “So...if she keeps not…”

“Right.” She swallowed hard. “I just, God, we waited so long for her, I worked so hard to bring her here, and now --”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

She shuddered.

“Are  _ you _ okay?”

His hand stilled momentarily. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“ _ I’ve _ got to be exhausted?” He was incredulous. “You spent over a day in labor. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for another, and now you’re sick. Your daughter --”

“ _ Our _ daughter. Elsa’s niece.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you dare try and make it seem like it hurts you two less.”

When Elsa came back in, she was flanked by the Nattura siblings, who both looked uncharacteristically solemn, almost sorrowful. Honeymaren had a small bundle in her arms, while Ryder leaned heavily on his staff, clearly tired too. 

“Sivnne, Heide, and Ávdnos all tried to get her to nurse, but she didn’t take to any of them. We could only get some water into her so she didn’t get too dehydrated; we, um, we think she wants her mother.”

“I tried giving her reindeer milk, Anna,” Ryder blurted. “I tried, I really did, but I must have done something wrong, she won’t accept it.”

“Ryder, you’ve done more than I’d ever ask of anyone,” Anna told him. Then, “Maren, would you please --”

Honeymaren nodded, bending to slip the hiccuping, keening infant into her mother’s arms. 

The baby’s thick tuft of hair was blonde like Elsa’s and Kristoff’s, with a sharp nose like Agnarr and round cheeks like Iduna, unusually heavy in Anna’s arms; she was big like her father, not small and slender like her mother. Her skin was flushed red, her face wrinkled up as she cried, tiny fingers extending for something, who knew what. 

Anna loved her at once with all of her heart, and Anna's heart was capable of unfathomable love. 

By the time Juljá returned with the medicine, the baby was so tired from crying that she fell asleep on her mother’s chest, making slight hitching noises in her sleep in lieu of sobs. Unable to truly rest.

“Anna, you sleep too,” the midwife advised as she downed the medicine. 

“Please, Anna. You need to. And I promise,” Elsa said, kneeling before her, pressing her cold hand to her forehead again, “We’ll do everything we can to care for your daughter.”

“This is fucked,” she mumbled. “I’m a queen. I’m her mother. I should be able to care for her.”

Elsa probably didn’t intend for her to hear what she murmured under her breath:

“Unfortunately, queens and mothers don’t always know what to do or how to care for the ones they love, either.”

Anna leaned back into her husband’s touch and slipped into darkness.

* * *

When she woke up again, Elsa and Kristoff were leaning against each other in the other corner of the goahti, asleep, finally worn out. Outside, she could hear soft female chatter, along with the crackling of the fires and the smell of stew cooking; this was the women’s and girls’ time, this peaceful time after the food was on the fire and no more needed to be done, but before the men actually arrived back for their suppers. 

The baby in Anna’s arms, wrapped up in a colorful blanket that a Northuldra woman had obviously woven herself, had donated to them in this moment of need, instead of the pretty dainty clothes fit for a princess that were waiting back at the castle, had begun keening softly again.

_ Mama, _ Anna thought in despair,  _ Mama, where are you when I need you?  _

She looked over at Kristoff, and her heart ached. She looked over at Elsa, thought of her sister, thought of their parents. Their mother. And her voice cracked with emotion as she opened her mouth. 

“ _ Where...where… _ Oh God, please sleep, please eat something, please.”

It was so difficult to love, sometimes. 

_ “Where the north wind meets the sea…” _

Outside, the other women’s voices halted as she sang. Elsa stirred in her sleep, nudging Kristoff; they both opened their eyes. 

_ “There’s a river full of memory…” _ Anna’s voice was cracked with fever. “Heh, your Tante Elsa half lives there. Shh. Listen. This is about your family.”

The baby’s cries dulled slightly as her sister and husband looked at her in awe, as the other women began to gather at the entrance. Honeymaren’s eyes grew wide; Yelana, near the back, let her stern demeanor fade as she smiled faintly.

_ “Sleep my darling, safe and sound --” _

She started as her sister’s voice harmonized with her own.

_ “-- for in this river all is found.”  _

For Elsa was singing now too, and she was not alone. Elsa moved to her side, and tentatively reached out, letting the tiny fingers wrap around her thumb. 

_ “In her waters, deep and true, lie the answers, and a path for you...” _

Kristoff moved over beside them too, and remained silent, but he nodded to the sisters, encouraging them. Her aching heart filled further.

The song continued. Anna’s voice hurt to sing, she was still in pain and groggy with the infection, but she kept going. 

_ “Yes, she will sing to those who’ll hear, and in her song, all magic flows, but can you brave what you most -- what you most fear --” _

She faltered, and Elsa sang  _ “Can you face what the river knows?” _ alone. 

But several more voices joined them, and Anna realized with a shock that the Northuldra women were singing now too. The women like their mother, like them. Like her daughter. 

_ “Where the north wind meets the sea,”  _ lifted in harmony, all those voices together, so that Anna was finally able to join, to finally let her daughter open her eyes, to look into eyes like her own when she sang. 

_ “There’s a mother full of memory _

_ Come, my darling homeward bound, _

_ When all is lost…”  _

The baby girl finally curled up again in Anna’s arms, drifting into sleep, this time, in gentle quiet, free of distress, free of tears. 

_ “Then all is found,” _ she finished on her own. 

Her loved ones curled into either side of her. 

“Seems we finally found what she wanted,” Yelana remarked; she’d surely seen many daughters born and many women made mothers, many families, but the gruff old woman smiled like she’d had the first time she found out that  _ their _ family’s women were Northuldra. 

Anna leaned back, mindful of her sickness. Her sister and husband on either side of her, her clan and mother’s memory around her, she placed her hand on her sleeping daughter’s head. Her own skin was still feverish, and her daughter’s was still shrunken with dehydration. 

_ Please sleep well, _ she prayed silently, appealing to all who would listen.  _ Please eat when you wake up.  _

_ Please live. _

_ Not for me. For you. For them. You haven’t even begun to meet your family.  _

The people she loved most leaned in closer as she prayed. In that moment, all hung in the balance, as she hoped for them to hold on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tante' is Norwegian for 'aunt.'


	5. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap for now! Good luck, everyone. I hope you all continue to stay safe and healthy.

Elsa understood, before she had the chance to ask the question, the look that kept coming back to her sister’s face in the first few months after the saving of the forest. 

She had seen it before, in the mirror, for far too long after the Great Thaw. 

It was a look that denoted too many nights waking up in a cold sweat, gasping, tears on your cheeks as your mind kept replaying your only living family turn, in the cracking of rushing frost, from warm, living flesh and blood to cold, glittering ice. The tears, the ragged hole in your heart, that came with knowing that she had been  _ gone _ , and you hadn’t been able to save her.

Sometimes, on mornings when they came to visit each other, Anna would stumble out of bed, running over to where Elsa was having her morning coffee with  _ that look _ on her face. Reassuring herself, Elsa knew, that her sister was no longer gone. That she was still alive. Still here. 

When they  _ weren’t _ visiting each other, Anna’s letters were sometimes less updates on their loved ones and the kingdom, and more seeking that very same reassurance.

She knew she had done the right thing in pursuing her own happiness, in leaving Arendelle in her sister’s loving hands, but even subdued, the old guilt still needled her chest, like it had done consistently since she was a child. And every time she received a letter covered in Anna’s messy scrawl, she took great care to reply as promptly as she could, to never keep her sister worried, for it was one thing to live lives in contact yet slightly apart from each other, and another to lose each other forever. 

Elsa would rather plunge back into the depths of Ahtohallan than ever see that happen again. But hadn't her actions like that been the problem in the first place? 

* * *

Anna wondered if it was obvious that she sometimes still lay awake on cold nights, unable to sleep, because though Elsa’s magic was still captivatingly beautiful to her, any other cold seemed a little too much like death. 

She clung to Kristoff in her bed, seeking him out even while he snored loud enough to bring the whole castle down, because he was warm, because he was and always had been  _ real _ and  _ there _ even in her most uncertain times. Nothing brought her out of her nightmares and back to the present like the presence of someone she loved. 

She wrote her letters and set them upon the icy wind, and thought back to the summer after the Thaw, Elsa’s constant hovering just back from her, still afraid of getting close, but more afraid of losing her again. 

Olaf skipped around the castle halls again, while an aging Sven still managed to keep up with him, and when Olaf faced her, cheerfully rattling off more trivia or even just saying “How was your council meeting, Anna?  _ Classic _ examples of egomania, your councillors; I like to think it went well”, she would pick him up and snuggle him to her, not hyperventilating or crying but feeling for herself that he was solid snow, that he  _ wasn’t _ dissolving, _ wasn’t _ flurrying away, because Elsa still lived and breathed. 

_ Is this how  _ you _ felt, Elsa? _ she silently asked the falling snow, all through the first winter of her queenship.  _ After  _ I _ froze? Did you constantly have to check, over and over again, that I wasn’t gone anymore? _

Her heart opened into a hole, knowing that they had shared that same agony. Hating not having been quick or clever or brave enough to have prevented it. 

That loss of love, that looked like a barren, iced-over fjord, that felt like a rocky, dark cavern at the bottom of a river. 

* * *

The snow began to melt into the ground, and Elsa fell in love with the Forest even more. She watched the baby reindeer be born and struggle onto their weak little legs, heard the birdsong ring once more from the branches of every birch and pine. Yelana taught her to skin a rabbit and leveled the world’s least impressed look when Elsa threw up on her first attempt. She went riding with the N ø kk, racing Honeymaren and Ryder. Bruni fell asleep on her shoulder while she read in the sunshine, and Gale’s breezes grew warmer every day. 

She fell asleep in a snow shower of her own making and dreamed of Anna crying, of her sister curled up in the dark all alone, while Elsa, frozen, could only watch helplessly. 

* * *

Some days, Anna truly loved being queen. She loved Arendelle, loved the blooming crocuses and how the marketplace and docks came alive again in the spring. The air smelled like pollen and baking bread, and laughter rang from every home. Her citizens cheered when they saw her, and she held their children in her arms and the chocolatier’s truffles tasted especially sweet on her lips. She awaited her upcoming coronation, eager and nervous, going over the schedule and her lines a thousand times so as not to mess it up while Kristoff and Mattias, bless them, rehearsed with her. 

She fell asleep with the window open and dreamed of being on the fjord, of Elsa crying, draping herself over her, while Anna, frozen, could only watch helplessly. 

* * *

The statue unveiling, then later, the coronation, went off without a hitch, as Elsa knew it would; much better than her own had, she thought wryly. It did nothing but convince her that the approaching wedding would go well too. The polar opposite of her attitude on her own coronation day, she rode in on her water horse, announced by a freezing whirlwind of sparkling frost and ice, in all her splendor as the Snow Queen, and thus got many uncomfortable stares from the guests. But it was Anna’s day, all went well for  _ Anna _ , and that was all that mattered. 

She stayed on a few days afterward, patiently listening to Anna talk her ear off about all the people she’d met, how it felt to  _ officially _ be a queen, watching from a distance as Olaf chased butterflies and Honeymaren explored around the kingdom and Ryder got lost around the kingdom a lot. 

Anna looked like she’d been sleeping poorly, with shadows under her eyes and a rather strained smile at times, and Elsa wondered if she looked the same way. 

“Do you still get nightmares?” Anna asked as they sat on the edge of the fjord, watching the sky turn the pure blue of glacial ice. Of  _ course _ she was the first one to bring it up. “Do you ever...think about loss? About the people you love?”

“Anna, you were just crowned queen. You should be happy. Not worrying about me.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” She bumped her shoulder against her sister’s. “Do you?”

Elsa recoiled slightly. Before she finally sighed...and leaned into Anna’s side, looking up, looking outwards. 

“Yes. I don’t think it --  _ any _ of it -- is ever going to go away. It’s faded. But I don’t think it’ll ever leave entirely.”

Anna put her arm around her, and leaned into her in turn.

* * *

For the sake of her people, the cheering crowds that had filled her heart with warmth and joy, Anna bore the crown on her head, which she thought was not at all heavy, not compared to the weight on her shoulders. The things their family, everyone they loved, _they themselves_ , had had to carry, it was a wonder the sisters’ backs had never broken. 

“Maybe not,” she replied after a while. “I have to believe that we’ll keep getting better, though.”

“Why?”

“Because otherwise, I’ll lose my mind.”

Elsa sighed, her soft, white-blond hair flowing loose around her shoulders. The wind was warm, but Anna still shivered. 

“That doesn’t seem right to me,” her older sister mumbled. “We’ve come so far, and yet we still suffer like this. I’ve cried so much over losing you, over being scared of losing you, it’s no wonder the water responds to me so well.”

“Els, if it were up to me I’d never let you go.” Anna swallowed hard. “But I can’t hold on forever. I get that now.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll always have each other, Anna. Don’t you know that?”

“I do.”

Sunlight rippled across the lake, and the last of winter was chased away. 

“Love lasts. Even if nothing else does.”

The sisters said nothing else for a long time; they didn’t have to. On that spring day, as everything around them kept changing, they just sat there, with the holes in their hearts and the weight on their backs, side by side, and watched the sun move across the sky. 

They were there. They were together. Right then, she would not ask for a lighter heart, for fewer tears, because right then, that was enough. 


End file.
